


Undead Drabbles

by ThereAreWorseFics



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2020-09-30 18:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20451914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereAreWorseFics/pseuds/ThereAreWorseFics
Summary: A place where smaller works go about Nathanos





	1. Died down the line

**Author's Note:**

> What if Nathanos survived the scourge?

"He... Mailed me his dead body?" Sylvanas could do naught but ask the courier fidgeting in front of a casket. "Open it."

And indeed, there he was, older and with more grey in his hair. He even dressed nicely for the occassion. She resisted the urge to remove a stray lock from his face.

"Leave us." She ordered the courier and then glared at the Dark Rangers. "You too."

It was only when she was left alone did she sternly gaze upon Nathanos Marris. _What a frustrating man_, she thought with distant fondness. It took him years of battle and near death experiences to circumvent a promise she forced out of him. _Don't you dare kill yourself_. It was hard to die in battle when you used to be the first and only human Ranger Lord.

But time destroyed everything, especially youth.

"Don't think you're going to escape my wrath just because you will finally be at my side." Sylvanas threatened before summoning a valkyr. It was time Nathanos renewed his oaths to her.


	2. Reasons for the beard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of many possible meetings and reasons for that beard

Nathanos expected the surprised and even disgusted glances that were given him. After all, Sylvanas had told him it would happen and at best at that. One did not know pick up a broken-hearted human kneeling beside the cooling body of his dead family as easily as one picked up strays. Not when it came to the high elves.

And certainly not bringing them to their capital.

The faces all looked similar to him as he glared around, refusing to slouch his shoulders even as his clothes were covered with mud and blood. One of the male elves approached Sylvanas and exchanged a few heated words before turning to Nathanos and speaking in accented common. "Who are you?"

"Nathanos Marris." That was easy enough. "Of... Well, it was burned down so... of nowhere now. Your general brought me here for some tests?" He hated how it sounded like a question. He was _not_ weak. He'll prove it to them. He'll prove it to them why he was the only survivor of the raid on his home.

A few more exchanged words as Sylvanas waved her hand dismissively and raised her chin. The next question took him squarely off guard.

"How old are you?"

_What does that have to do with anything?_ "I'll be eighteen this autumn." A man.

There was silence as the elven man repeated the number in whatever language elves used. It persisted and Nathanos had to fight the urge to fidget, exhaustion be damned.

Then everything erupted and he did not need to know their language to get the crux of it as disbelieving shouts and chatter surrounded him like tight rope. At least Sylvanas was regal and composed like a queen while arguing in his favour or so he guessed. He glared again at the eyes watching him.

It looked like he would have to grow a beard.


	3. Emotional backbone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Witch patch 8.2.5. it is clear to me who's the emotional and who is the intellectual back bone of this relationship

Nathanos could see the tension warring with tired defeat in Sylvanas' shoulders. It was no surprise, not after she had reached her boiling point in front of the gates of Ogrimmar. And it was inevitable, especially with the blatant distrust at best and treachery at worst.

Fools, the lot of them.

"My Lady." He nearly whispered as he approached within the reaching distance. The wounds were reopened now and she needed a balm. "Some of our loyalists are here and many remain in hiding. You are not alone."

"Am I not?" She asked no one in particular. "How many more will abandon me?"

Nathanos reached for her arm, turning her towards him. "However many are needed until the worthy ones remain."

"And will you?" There was too much vulnerability and hesitation in her tone for his liking. His hand moved from her upper arm to her hand, placing it on the top of his chest where his heart used to be as if trying to give her reassurance and strenght through will alone.

"Until the end of my days."


	4. Father to the Forsaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blame 'Before the Storm' pushing the narrative of the Bashee Queen as a motherly figure for this.

"And then they..."

"Decided to try and eat it."

Sylvanas fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. It was beneath her. She was too old for it. She was also too old and too busy to deal with her subjects acting like feral cats. And yet... And yet here she was and unlike Nathanos, she found no humour in it.

"I thought we were making progress when they managed to keep calm during the ceremony in Ogrimmar."

"Baby steps." Nathanos' moustache twitched. Sylvanas glared at it as if it was the one to cause all the chaos in less than an hour and almost burn half of the Undercity.

"Don't you dare laugh. I can see you desire to do so. Just because the living are fond of calling me their mother does not mean I am. Nor would I ever want to be." Babysitting thousands of Forsaken seemed like Hell on Azeroth.

Nathanos' smiled turned wicked but it fell once her own expression started mirroring his.

"Do you know what they call _you?_"

"Sylvanas--" He tried to delay the inevitable.

"Father of the Forsaken."

Unlike her, Nathanos gave in the urge to groan at that. Served him well in her opinion. Just because he was not an official consort or a king(by his own refusal mind you) did not mean everyone was blind to his unnofficial role at her side as her champion.

"Sylvanas. My lady. Please never call me that ever again."


	5. Seething Shore Stand-Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes crack happens

The Seething Shore had nothing on Nathanos’ glare from across the sky or so Shaw thought as he leaned his left pauldron onto the side of the airship. The mere fact that he could see Blightcaller’s expression probably meant that he knew that Mathias knew his arrows could reach him.

And yet.

And yet here they were, minutes after their respective champions went in to fight it out like good little tin soldiers for an hundredth time and neither has drawn a weapon. Were he anything but what he was, Mathias would have fooled himself into thinking the undead Champion of the Banshee Queen had a lick of honour.

“Fancy seeing you here, Blightcaller.”

A steady glare.

“Still having disagreements with your Queen in the earshot of my spies?”

An arrow narrowly missed Mathias Shaw. He smirked.


	6. Pride and Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was done for Warchief_Aynari. Enjoy your Derek/Nathanos fix

In Derek Proudmoore’s defence, a sad Blightcaller made everyone else miserable. That is to say: a man who has been emotionally wounded by his one true love and sent on a mission across the seas would understandably be curt to his crew even more than usual. In this case the ‘more’ included a raised voice, genuine anger and at last solitude in the captain’s cabin.

  
A cabin he just entered without knocking.

  
It spoke volumes at Nathanos’ emotional state that he did not even raise his head when Derek came in uninvited, instead continuing his writing on the desk filled with scrolls of various importance. The only acknowledgement was that Derek was in fact still as undead as an hour before and not rotting in the Maw the moment he overstepped. Truly, the man slumped in his chair before him was in true pain.

  
“She didn’t mean it—” he started to say.

  
“She did.” Nathanos swiftly pushed an unopened scroll aside. “Even in her anger she strikes true. I know her.” _You don’t_.

  
Derek took off his hat as he approached the table and put it on a pile of unopened letters. “That does not mean she does not regret coming across as harsh as she did.”

  
Nathanos’ upper lip curled as Derek circled the desk to stand beside him. “You speak confidently about your Warchief after mere months.” He did not resist hands that were carefully placed on his shoulders, waiting for his approval.

  
“I know very little.” Derek sighed as he leaned in so his goatee was boldly brushing the ear of his superior. “In this brave new world all I can rely on is what I see, patterns, my feelings and... You.”

The confession fell easily from his dead lips. This brave new world held little semblance to the one he died in, nothing but an empty husk of a ship he once knew filled to the brim with sharks. At least this one was predictable. Powerful enough to drive others away from Derek.

  
He waited patiently as Blightcaller struggled with his pride before tucking his writing quill aside and closing the ink bottle. Only when Nathanos leaned back into his chair and into Derek’s arms did Proudmoore move his hands from those strong shoulders downwards, across still armoured chest and right to the belt.

  
“You can sail without a map, but it will leave you stranded more often than not.” Derek opened the trousers and palmed Nathanos’ dick with his gloves still on. Impersonal. “All you need is a plan and all the rest will fall into place.” His undead mouth got even drier as Blightcaller’s erection grew in his right hand. His left barely managed to grasp his balls. The trousers were tighter than expected. “Bring her a victory and all the rest will be forgotten.”

  
“You are such a pretentious little noble in undeath.” Nathanos growled as he fought to relax his grip on the armrests of his chair. “All these metaphors and sweet words and still you couldn’t get your own sister to welcome you back into Allaince’s fold.”

  
Derek grit his teeth, swallowed, then quickened the pace he pumped Nathanos’s dick with while the man below him fought to not show how much he needed this moment of comfort. “We are lucky she did not take after our father after all, otherwise your potential spy in the Alliance ranks would have died his second death. At least this way, I can still be of use.” He blew air into Blightcaller’s earlobe just to be that petty and smirked as the body beneath jerked. “Stop resisting yourself, sir, and just relax.”

  
Nathanos couldn’t have relaxed even if he wanted to. Just a few seconds later he came with a smothered sound through gritted teeth. Derek fought the urge to press a tender kiss on the side of his head. Such comfort was not his to give. Only this.

  
Blightcaller allowed his touch only long enough for Derek to tuck him back into his trousers before straightening and going back to his paperwork. Knowing it was all intimacy he would get, Derek placed back his hat on his head and marched to the door. He hesitated only for a second before squashing any hope of anything more meaningful and closed the door behind him.


	7. Life After Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Biskit who likes Derek/Nathanos AU

If there was one thing Nathanos Blightcaller knew, it was that the birds were the worst thing to happen to mammals since dinosaurs. Well, humans to be more precise. Alright, him. He couldn't stand the mad feathered affront to humanity even in life, let alone undeath.

"Mwah." Said the infernal parrot from the window. "Kiss." It bobbed its head up and down as if laughing at interrupting him and Derek. The window of Nathanos' new ship _Priderise_ was open and he had no memory of doing so. A gift from Derek and named by Nathanos. _A good _ship.

"This is all your fault." Nathanos growled as he pushed away from the owner of said parrot. "It's your menace." He tried shooing the bird away but it hopped down onto his desk instead.

"Riptide is not a menace." Derek laughed, completely unrepentant at getting a bird as his pet. Judging by a small tricone hat and an eyepatch he put on it, Nathanos couldn't discreetly get rid of it. Or put in the stew for the crew. In fact, as their crew now consisted of all the Dark Rangers that took the cue from him and played possum at his Stead for the second time, there would be no stew in the kitchens at all. "He just likes you."

"Stupid!" Riptide screeched.

Nathanos promptly took the nearest thing in his reach(a balled up piece of paper) and threw it at the parrot which squacked indignantly before taking off and out of the window. "Stupid! Blight! Call!" Nathanos shut the window swiftly before whipping around and marching right into Derek's personal space.

"Get on your knees unless you want to be thrown out of that window." He growled.

Derek chuckled at him even as his knees hit the floorboards and his hands grabbed Nathanos' thighs. "You better not fall down on yours when I am through with you."

Naturally, Nathanos cheated by leaning against the table as Derek took his sweet time sucking him off. When he was spent he barely registered Derek grabbing him and throwing him on the bed with a cheeky grin.

"Your turn now, _sir_." Derek purred as he climbed on top of Nathanos.

Outside of the window, Riptide circled the docked _Priderise_ before settling on the head of an annoyed Dark Ranger.


	8. Transmog Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brisaveloz is credited with this silly idea of why Jailer and Sylvanas have revealing armour

"My Lady..."

If Sylvanas could sigh dreamily, she would have, damn the hellscape that was the Maw surrounding her and Nathanos. With him faking his death yet again at the Stead he had no other option but to join the Jailer's covenant. That meant leaving behind their old selves and donning new, improved armour. The future was theirs to seize.

"Sylvanas ..."

She lift her gaze from his kissable lips to finally acknowledge him. "Yes, my champion?" She purred.

"Please tell me there are some actual clothes in those bags that Brutosaur is carrying."

If Sylvanas cared to move her gaze away from her naked champion save from a short skirt that used to be the lower part of her cape concealing his privates... Well, she did not care to do that. The only other thing to look at was a giant Brutosaur she and the Jailer spent all their gold on. With how little they had in terms of mounts and bag space, this was a long term investment.

"No." She reached out her hand and put it on his bare shoulder. "It only came with bags. We even had to sell my old armour to reach that last million gold we needed."

Nathanos' shoulder slumped in defeat beneath her hand. "This is why the Jailer, you and I are sharing transmog pieces?"

"Yes. We had no more gold for three sets."


	9. Bad Angle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If torture wasn't cliche and obvious and literally there for everyone to see in Dazaalor. Takes place in 'Jaina rejects Derek' AU.

Derek was sick of being afraid.

His arms should have hurt the entire time he was suspended by the chains for weeks on end and yet they felt numb. Numb to touch. Numb to ice. Numb to magic. Not numb to fire as Derek's mind writhed with the memory and the sheer _agony_ of his last moments drowning and sinking and crying and _burning_...

He was slipping. Numb.

He wished he was.

"You have eaten all of it I see." Blightcaller's moustache twitched as he smirked. He was shorter than Derek yet made him cower with ease of a giant. "Have you enjoyed it?"

Derek didn't answer. There was never a right answer. Just keep quiet as long as possible. That is what father taught him. Father... Did he live? By the Tides let him not be forcibly risen like he himself was. Let him be home with mother, Jaina and Tandred.

"I think you did." Blightcaller moved his arm from behind himself and a human head landed at Derek's feet. "Thank him for a good meal."

Derek couldn't understand at first. He looked from the head and to the comically villainous undead blocking his only escape route. _What is it that he wants? Is it obvious? Wasn't meat supposed to restore my senses and my flesh?_

And then it clicked.

Derek promptly kneeled over to throw up the apparently human meat he just ate with relish but was picked by the shirt and slammed into the wall of his cage, a death grip of Blightcaller's gloved hand on his jaw.

"Ah, ah." The tone of his tormentor dripped with gentleness one used with hounds. "This is for your own good. Can't have you dying on us again." His eyebrow rose up. "Do you want to die again?"

_No_.

The hand over his mouth did not allow him the dignity of answering. "If you had been more agreeable, the deception wouldn't have been necessary." A hand moved to pet Derek's filthy hair. "We will return you to your sister. To your family. Eventually."

_Hope_.

"But there are some thing you have to... Do for us first. To understand."

Burning eyes found his pale blue glow and Derek nodded curtly, one more barricade down in his mind and soul. He wanted to go home. He wanted the world to make sense again. He wanted his tormentors to grow tired and leave him alone. And they would. Despite his cruelty, the Blightcaller always delivered on his promises, maybe if Derek complied...

"Finish your meal."

One more barricade down.


End file.
